Vendetta
by BeckyS
Summary: Someone out there will go through anyone to get to Don. Hang in through the first few chapters, things are not always as they seem. 3 JULY HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN THIS, BUT RL HAS BEEN A BEAST LATELY. MORE IN A BIT.
1. Chapter 1

_**Vendetta  
**__By BeckyS  
__April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
__are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
__No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

"So, how long is it we have to wait for him?" the young man in the first row of the classroom asked the slim, black-haired girl next to him. He breathed deeply but discreetly of her heavy sandalwood perfume, glad of an excuse to talk to her.

She gazed around the room, as if she could make their teacher appear out of thin air for his Tuesday noon seminar. A breeze from the open windows teased at her bangs. "Isn't it five for a teaching assistant, ten for an instructor, fifteen for an associate professor, and twenty for a full professor?"

A young black man said from the back of the room, "That's an urban legend, Janelle – it's not in the student handbook."

"Doesn't have to be," she said. "It's courtesy."

"My brother at MIT said it's thirty for a tenured professor with a doctorate, especially if he has more than one," said another girl in the far corner, "and I'd wait a lot longer than that for _this_ professor."

Giggles erupted from the few women in the room, and more than one male student rolled his eyes. They all considered themselves lucky that Dr. Charles Eppes was faculty and a full professor, because that meant that the girls couldn't chase after him and he couldn't pursue them. The man was brilliant, young, funny, and girls found his curly black hair and deep brown eyes absolutely adorable. It didn't even matter that he was the same height as most of them. If he ever entered the race, the male students would all be out of luck.

"Jase?" Janelle said. "This isn't like him."

"C'mon, he's missed class before." Jason dug around in his backpack and pulled out a physics assignment to work on while they waited. He was willing to give Eppes a break, too. The man was not only smart but could teach, and Jason felt lucky to have gotten into one of his classes.

"Yeah," she answered, "but he always makes sure we have a sub, or at least someone leaves a note on one of the boards. Even when he gets wrapped up in a problem, he has TAs to wake him up and haul him in here."

"Oh, yeah," Jason smiled. "Like Amita."

Janelle whacked his arm. "_Doctor_ Amita, ace." Amita Ramanujan was going for her second doctorate, which didn't put her off-base to grad students, but Janelle Taylor was sensitive to the still-enduring prejudice against women in science. One thing about Dr. Eppes, he didn't care what sex, size or color you were, as long as you wanted to learn. "So where is he?" Janelle wondered out loud.

Jason shrugged. "Maybe there's a calendar or something on his desk." He waved at the massive piece of furniture that blocked off a nook at the front of the L-shaped room, turning it into a working office.

Janelle nudged him and slipped out of her chair. "Let's go see."

"Okay, if you really have to." He got up to follow her, also curious.

But when she got to the side of the desk, she stopped cold and reached for him with a shaking hand. Her eyes widened, she covered her mouth with her other hand, and then she screamed.

Jason ran to her side and looked down at what she was staring at, and he swallowed hard. Professor Eppes was crumpled into the corner where the desk and the wall met. His head was tipped back against a drawer and blood had run down his face and into his hair from a deep gash on his forehead. It stained his hands, his shirt, and the floor where he lay.

Jason dropped to his knees and tried to find a pulse in their professor's neck, his fingers slipping on the blood. He looked up at the crowd that had gathered, faces frozen in shock. "I think," he said in a thin voice, "I think he's dead."

* * *

Chaos. That was what Dr. Larry Fleinhardt found when he slipped into his friend's classroom. A campus policeman was trying to calm the students, but since he also wouldn't let any of them leave, he was having a rough time. Larry said a silent word of thanks to the student who had come running for him, who'd practically flung himself into his office gasping, "Accident . . . Dr. Eppes . . . ." Larry had raced after him, with no idea what to expect, but he knew the first thing was to get the students calmed.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out. He didn't have a particularly loud voice, but he knew how to make it cut through a classroom. Most of them turned to look at him, recognized him as a colleague of their professor, and actually paid attention. "Please take your seats and remain calm. Do not talk any more than is necessary until we can sort through what has to be done."

He turned to the campus patrolman, who looked as young as the students – and as rattled. "I was told an accident . . . ?" He checked the name tag. "Officer Monroe?"

Monroe shook his head. "More like murder."

"But murder . . ." Larry shook his head and started toward the desk. "Murder means someone . . . died?" He stepped around the desk and stopped abruptly. His face went white. He forced himself to move forward, to kneel next to his friend. Charlie's head was thrown back, exposing his throat, and his eyes were closed, dark lashes spread like a fan against his cheeks. Larry steeled himself to feel for a pulse, careful not to disturb any potential evidence. He felt ill as he watched the beaten face of his friend for any sign of life, as he felt no pulse against his blood-slick fingers.

A feminine voice carried across the room from the doorway.

"Professor Fleinhardt?"

Amita. No, she shouldn't see this. He dragged himself up and forced himself back into action. "Amita, would you and Officer Monroe please escort these students into my classroom." He turned to the class and raised his voice. "No one leaves; no one goes home. We'll let you know what we can as soon as we can."

They shuffled out with backward glances, but obedient as children in their shock.

"Charles?" he whispered to the man on the floor. "No. Not you . . ." He saw Charlie's cell phone on the desk and picked it up, turning it over in his hands as if it were a precious artifact. Then he flipped it open, searched through the address book and dialed one of the numbers. There were the sounds of a call being forwarded, then a voice that seemed very far away.

"Good morning, this is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I direct your call?"

* * *

Soon the room seemed full again, this time with uniforms and suits that all looked terribly out of place in the halls of academe. He leaned against a corner of the small study area by the desk, his eyes never leaving the body of his friend, and let the sounds wash over him. He slowly realized that one of the voices was talking to him, and that one of the men in a suit was pulling on his arm.

"Professor?" the man asked. "Would you please come to the back of the room with me for a minute?"

Larry followed him and lowered himself to one of the student chairs. He barely registered the paramedics crossing in front of the white boards. Then he was jolted back to the present by the flash of cameras taking pictures of the crime scene – of Charlie. "I can't believe it. I just can't believe that Charles . . ."

"Professor, I'm Assistant Director Merrick. I run the Los Angeles FBI office. Don Eppes works for me, and Charlie—" he shot a regretful look at the front of the room, "Charlie worked for us sometimes, too."

"Oh. Yes." He looked up to see a man about his own age who had a pinched look around eyes that gazed steadily at him. "Can you find Don?" he asked. "I tried to call him, but he isn't at work and he isn't answering his cell phone."

Merrick put his hand on Larry's shoulder and squeezed gently. "He's on a stake-out. They're at a critical point; it wouldn't be safe to try to pull him out right now."

"But he needs to know – someone has to tell him—" His stomach turned over at the thought of being the bearer of that news.

"I'll tell him as soon as it's safe," Merrick said. "Do you know where his father is? Have you been able to reach him?"

Larry shook his head. This was going to just about kill Alan Eppes. "I think he might be out of town. San Diego; maybe a day trip into Mexico. I'm not sure." He looked up. "Don would know."

Merrick sighed. "All right. I'll take care of things for now." He pulled a card from his wallet and a pen, and wrote a number on the back of it. He handed it to Larry, who took it with an air of abstraction. "Call me at that number as soon as you hear from either of them, and tell them to call. It'll reach me any time. You can go home now, if you want. I'll get in touch with you as soon as I know anything."

Larry stood, but stared at the far corner of the room where people were doing . . . things. This was wrong – it was just wrong. He realized Merrick was waiting for him. "Be gentle," was all he could finally say.

Merrick nodded. "I never really understood him, but he gave us everything he had. He's part of our family, too."

Larry pressed his hand up against his forehead, then his fist against his mouth. There was nothing more to say, so he just nodded and walked slowly out of the classroom, wondering what he was going to tell Amita.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for the reviews! Wow, some of you folks must haunt the Library, LOL, because it hasn't been posted that long. I'll be getting a few chapters up pretty quick, but then it will slow down, so don't worry that you'll be left hanging. It's just that I'm still tweaking a few spots.__**

* * *

**_

Vendetta  
_By BeckyS  
__April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
__are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
__No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

_No Eppes were permanently harmed in the making of this fic._

* * *

Agent Don Eppes was tired but exhilarated. The stake-out had worked; they'd caught one more man up the chain in the group they'd been tracking for six weeks. That there'd been no injuries to his people was a bonus. He unlocked the door to the section of offices where his team was quartered and headed for his desk. 

"Don?" said Susan Stendhauser, one of his brother's favorite computer techs. "The AD wants to see you right away."

Don waved at her, but kept going. Merrick had waited this long, he could wait a few minutes more while he debriefed his people so they could all go home. He and David Sinclair had stayed an extra hour at the scene after everyone else to do the mopping up, so he knew Megan, his second and the team's profiler, would have everyone ready.

Once he got to his desk, he slipped out of his jacket and hung it on a hook on the side of his cubicle. He stretched and looked around the office in pleasure. Then he noticed a file on Megan's desk. "Not another case already," he moaned softly, but in spite of himself, he walked over to look at it. The words on the tab caught his eye, "Eppes – CalSci." Something for Charlie? Then why on Megan's desk?

He had just flipped the file open when he heard her voice, "Don, don't—!"

But it was as if her voice came from a distance, because the information on the first page leapt out at him. "Dr. Charles Eppes," he murmured, "deceased." He looked up, blind to anything but the information in his hands, then felt something tugging on the folder.

"Don," he heard vaguely. "Give it to me."

"No," he groaned, his eyes drawn back to the summary on the first page. _Blunt trauma to the head . . . pending autopsy, death estimated one hour later. Bruising on forearms, probable defense injuries . . . discovered by students in classroom. _His hands flipped automatically through the pages as his eyes took in the pictures. In stark color, standard police photography, maximum lighting so that every detail stood out. They struck him to the heart. Charlie. There was no mistake; it was Charlie. Bloodied, beaten, it was him. Dead. The world telescoped to darkness.

"Colby! Catch him!"

"What the hell—?"

The only thing he could see was his brother, lying broken against an old wooden desk; the only thought he had room for in his mind was _death estimated one hour later. _Charlie, bleeding his life out onto the floor of his classroom as his body gradually shut down, dying alone.

"Don!"

Someone was making him drink. He swallowed automatically, easing his suddenly parched throat.

He vaguely heard David's voice, swearing. "When I find the ass who left that file out, I'm going to personally string them up by their—"

Don could hardly catch his breath. "Oh, God, Charlie!" he gasped. Megan's voice broke through and he realized she'd been talking to him, pleading with him. He grabbed her arm and forced the words out. "Megan – tell me it's a mistake. Please—"

But he saw it in her face, in her eyes, so expressive like Charlie's – he could read every thought.

"I'm so sorry."

He moaned, then, a soft note of pain ripped from his gut that didn't ease the agony in his heart. "Where is he?" he finally managed to say.

The three members of his team exchanged bewildered looks.

"Where did they take him?"

"The county morgue?" David offered.

"I want – I need to see him."

David shot him a sideways glance. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"I – I need to see him, touch—"

"He's not going to start coming to terms with this until he does," Megan explained. "I think we'd better do what he wants."

Don looked up and realized they were in one of the conference rooms. He was in a chair, though he had no memory of how he'd gotten there. Megan was sitting next to him with one hand on his arm, Colby was leaning against the door frame, unbearable sympathy on his face, and David was kneeling in front of him. "David," he whispered. "Please, find out where my brother is."

David gripped Don's hands. "I will. And then we'll take you there."

"Thanks."

David rose and grabbed Colby's arm on his way out. One of them shut the door quietly behind them.

"Don?"

He looked around the room. "White boards. Look at those white boards, Megan. They're Charlie's. Ever since the first time he came in here and explained that crazy theory of his, no matter what else is up on them, to me, these have been his white boards."

"Don't do this to yourself. Don't—"

"Don't what?" he turned on her. "Don't remember my brother? Don't remember the man everyone else saw as just a genius they could use to fix their problems, but was my kind, gentle little brother? The one who bled right along with every murder victim, every woman who was raped and beaten, that little girl who disappeared – who tried so hard to find answers so that no one would hurt any more?"

He shook his head slowly. "Charlie could have lost himself completely in his numbers, but he hurt too much over every victim we had. Other people would have walked away, never helped again, but he couldn't do that. He couldn't turn off how much he cared about people, even if he could never quite figure out how to fit in with them."

"I know," said Megan, and he saw tears running down her face. "I can't believe he's gone, either."

"What happened?" he finally thought to ask her. "Some crazed student he failed out of a class swung a tire iron at his head?"

She shook her head. "We don't know. The police haven't found a weapon. They've questioned every student who was in the class when he was found, but the detective who interviewed them said they were all in shock. He doubts anyone was faking."

David reappeared in the doorway. He hesitated, obviously reluctant to say something.

"Go ahead," Don said.

"They took him to the local morgue for a post, but Merrick pulled some strings, had his body transferred." He glanced at Megan.

Don dragged himself to his feet. "Where?"

"Merrick said he was part of our family, so . . . ."

"Say it. He's—"

"Downstairs."

Somehow that made it easier. Charlie was here, in the place Don considered a second home. He breathed deeply if still with a ragged edge, and started toward the door. The first step was almost a stagger, but he made it, finding his balance in more ways than one. Procedure. When your world fell apart, you leaned on procedure.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

_**Vendetta  
**__By BeckyS  
__April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
__are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci. _

_No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

After a stop at the men's room to wash his face and discover how haggard he looked, he headed for the elevator. Megan and David flanked him, Colby behind them, but all the agents and techs rose from their chairs and stood quietly as he passed. He took it as the tribute his brother deserved, not realizing that it came from respect for both brothers.

As they rode silently down to the lower levels, Don mulled over how he'd always thought it was appropriate to have the morgue on the lowest floors. He'd supposed they were built there for ease of moving bodies, but he wondered now if it wasn't also some deep instinct relating to burying the dead. It didn't seem right for Charlie, though. Not Charlie, whose mind had flown with the eagles, commanding the highest winds. No, his brother didn't belong in the cold, dark earth.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked steadily down the hall to the gleaming double doors at the end. Step by step, he forced himself forward. He pushed through the doors as if they didn't exist and approached the medical examiner.

"Can I see—" he started but couldn't finish.

Dr. Sabello scrutinized him carefully, but was apparently satisfied. "Of course," he said. "I haven't begun the postmortem, though, so at this point I don't have much more than what the paramedics said."

"Right now," Don swallowed, "right now I just want to see him."

"Don?" Megan asked. "Do you want us to stay?"

He clenched his jaw for a moment, then shook his head. "I'd like a little time with him . . . alone. If you don't mind."

She touched his back lightly. "Of course not." His team left, but not without a final backward look from Megan. "We'll be just outside," she added.

He nodded. Looking at the wall of vaults, he asked the doctor, "Which one?"

"Seventeen. Do you need help?"

"No. Thank you."

"All right. I'll join your friends for a few minutes, then."

And he was alone. The only man alive in a room full of bodies, even if they were tucked away neatly. The only Eppes alive in the room. He forced himself forward, toward the door marked "17."

"Figures," he muttered. "A prime number." He rested his fingers lightly on the handle. "I don't want to do this, Charlie. I guess I understand a little bit better now why you couldn't go see Mom when she was so sick. I'm sorry I was always so hard on you about that. I don't want to see you all messed up. I don't want to see you and think you're asleep, like when you finally wind down enough to rest for a minute, and then you're so gone that I always have to stop and make sure you're still breathing. I don't want to look at you asleep in there and listen and not hear you." He leaned his head against the cold metal, but it didn't ease the hot ache deep inside. "Oh, Charlie, why?"

Then with sudden strength, he grabbed the handle, opened the door and pulled the slab out. He touched the black plastic that encased his brother's body, and gently, reverently pulled the zipper down. He parted the wrapping, and found himself looking at a stranger.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

At the cry of anguish that ripped through the doors, Megan, David, Colby and the doctor all burst back into the room, Colby with one hand on his gun. Don whirled from the open vault and in two steps was grabbing at the doctor's scrubs.

"Where's my brother?" he demanded. "Which door?"

"That one!" Sabello answered, trying to pull Don's hands down and away from his throat. "Seventeen!"

"That's not Charlie," Don growled. "Where is he? Do I have to go through every body bag in here to find him?"

Sabello's face was frozen in stunned surprise. "I – I put him there myself, the paramedics that brought him over – we put him there. I checked the toe tag—"

David spoke from near the body's feet. "Don, the toe tag has Charlie's name on it."

"What?" he exclaimed, and let go of the doctor. He examined it for himself.

"Maybe the morgue messed up," Colby offered.

"Well, I'm gonna find out, and by the time I get it straightened out, there's gonna be a few heads on the floor."

"Eppes!"

Don whirled to find AD Merrick in the doorway.

"Agent Eppes, you are supposed to be in my office. What are you doing down here?" he demanded.

"What do you think? I'm looking for my brother, the one that the medical profession," he shot a vicious glance at the doctor, "seems to have lost."

"Upstairs," Merrick ordered. "Now. Sinclair and Granger, see to it that he gets there. No stops on the way, no talking to anyone, and don't leave him alone for a minute." He stood aside and glared at them.

"But, sir," David started to explain, appalled at what he saw as a complete lack of faith in one of his top agents, "he just found out about his brother."

Merrick's expression didn't change. "I'm well aware of the situation. I have a few words for the doctor, then Reeves and I will be right behind you."

Don shot him a look of fury, but stalked out behind the other agents.

Megan's gaze narrowed on their boss. "Sir, what's going on?"

"That's what I'd like to know," muttered Sabello.

"Doctor, you will continue your work as normal. You will perform a post-mortem on the body in drawer seventeen on your normal schedule. You will leave that body tagged as Dr. Charles Eppes, and you will speak of this aberration to no one. As soon as I can I'll tell you what's going on, but for now, all you need to know is that an agent's life depends on you progressing exactly the way you would normally operate."

Megan's eyebrows went up. So AD Merrick really was up to speed. More than the rest of them, from the sound of things.

"In the meantime," he continued, his voice just a bit softer, "can you prescribe something so that Agent Eppes can get some rest tonight? I need him put back together as soon as possible."

This was stranger and stranger. Merrick might come off to most people as a hard man, but Megan read something else into his behavior.

The doctor apparently decided to trust the AD, because he led them to his office where he unlocked the glass doors to a cabinet and rummaged around in the shelves. Merrick jerked his head at Megan, and she took the bottle.

The doctor instructed, "Two in his coffee once you get him home, and he'll be out for at least eight hours. He'll probably wake up spitting mad, but for a man like him, that'll likely work to your advantage. If he gets any alcohol in him, and a drink wouldn't be a bad thing, then reduce it to one."

"Thank you," said Merrick, and led the way back to the elevator. When they got into the empty car, he said, "Agent Reeves, I know you have questions that Agent Eppes would ask if this hadn't completely blindsided him. I can't answer any of them right now. I need you to get him home, make sure he gets some rest, and bring him back tomorrow by nine. I hope by then I'll be able to tell you more."

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"You, Sinclair and Granger are released from all other duties to work this case."

"Yes, sir. Do you want one of us to stay here tonight?"

"No. For now, your team goes wherever Agent Eppes goes."

In spite of his warning against questions, she felt compelled to ask. "Sir? What aren't you telling me?"

The elevator doors opened. "In my office," he answered.

As they passed his secretary, he said, "No calls; no interruptions."

"Of course, sir. Agents Eppes and Sinclair are inside. Agent Granger is handling a related call from CalSci police. Do you want coffee?"

He sighed, and Megan had the sudden notion that this was as hard on him as on the rest of them. Except Don.

"Knock first," he said, then led the way into his office.

Don was standing by the large windows that looked out over Los Angeles, David nearby but not intruding.

Merrick went to his desk and tapped a folder that was lying on top, then seemed to change his mind about something. "Agent Eppes."

Don slowly turned to face him but didn't say anything.

"You are relieved of duty until tomorrow morning at nine a.m. At that time, I want you back here in this office. Agents Reeves, Sinclair and Granger will remain with you and will accompany you back here tomorrow."

"You're assigning me babysitters?"

Megan couldn't quite read his expression – shock, disbelief, but something else, too.

Merrick shot him a hard look. "Yes. I am."

"What do you think I'm going to do, go kill my father's last son?"

The silence hung like a live thing, taunting everyone to say something. Megan didn't dare move.

There was a knock at the door, and at a nod from the AD, David opened it. The secretary brought in a tray with a carafe surrounded by mugs. She set it on the low table by the window, poured the steaming brew into a mug, added a healthy dose of sugar and creamer, and wrapped Don's hands around it. She waited until he took a sip, than asked her boss, "Anything else, sir?"

Rather than answering her directly, he poured himself some coffee and said, "Don, do you know where your father is?"

Don winced, and Megan could see the pain shoot through him all over again.

"San Diego," he said finally, and took another sip from his mug. It seemed to steady him a little. "He booked through CalAmeriTours. I have his itinerary at home. I need to call him, tell him about—"

"You will not."

"What!" His head jerked up.

"You will not contact your father. Not yet."

"You're walking a fine line, Assistant Director," Don warned. He'd been an Agent In Charge of an office and knew very well the rules that they followed – and this was apparently not one of them.

"Yes, I am, Agent Eppes," Merrick replied evenly.

Something in Merrick's tone got through to Don, and his expression sharpened. "What's going on?"

Merrick put his mug down on the window sill and stared outside, as Don had before. "Go home. Get some rest. Report back tomorrow morning, and I'll have a new assignment for you that I need you to be sharp for."

"A new assign—" Megan started in disbelief, but cut off when the AD glared at her.

"Go home, Agent Eppes. I'll see you at nine a.m." He strode back to his desk and started flipping through his papers, an effective dismissal.

The secretary held the door open for them, an apologetic expression on her face. The three agents filed out and headed for the elevator.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

_Just a quick thanks to those who've stuck with the story so far, regardless of what you may have thought I did to Charlie. Please hang in a bit longer . . . _

* * *

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

Home. Why had he told David to drive his Suburban to the family house instead of his apartment? They pulled into the driveway and stopped, Colby and Megan caught in traffic somewhere behind them, but Don didn't open his door. He just stared through the windshield at the house, and memories flooded him.

"_A baby? We're gonna have a baby? He better be a boy, 'cause I'm gonna teach him everything!"_

"_Hey, Charlie? Can you . . . you got a minute? See, there's this thing in my math homework . . . No, I won't do your chores for you!"_

"_You guys go on to the diner and I'll catch up with you at the movie. I gotta pitch a few to the little twerp."_

"_Dad? I got suspended from school for two days . . . because . . . because some kids were beating up on Charlie and I hit them."_

"_Mom, you gotta let him go to that college. I don't get it, but I know he's gonna die if you don't let him."_

"_You've never kissed a girl?"_

"_Charlie, geez, it's just a test. You take tests all the time and you always ace them. Driving tests aren't any different. You just practice . . . ."_

"_A Ph.D. Wow. Hey, buddy, you did good!"_

And then, too many years later, _"I'm coming home, Charlie. I'm moving back to L.A."_

The house looked all misty in the evening light, the automatic sprinklers showering sparkling diamonds of water on the walkway and grass. He swiped at his eyes. He'd come home to be with his mother before she died, and it seemed now a kind of gift – because of her illness, he'd gotten to spend time with Charlie before he left them, too. He hoped they were together somewhere.

He opened the door and slid from the passenger seat. He knew that look in David's eye, knew the younger man was concerned, but Don appreciated that he kept his thoughts to himself. There was nothing he could say tonight that would help. He led the way to the door, pulled out his key, and stepped through.

And was instantly immersed in his brother's spirit. Charlie, sitting cross-legged on the floor at the low table in the living room, papers spread on every surface except for where his laptop was propped up. Charlie, clearing the papers from his bed upstairs with a shake of the comforter, or sometimes just falling on top of them into instant sleep. In the solarium, down the hall from his bedroom, pacing in the sunlight as he worked out a new approach to a problem. Watching the logs burn in the fireplace while everyone else in the family watched television. What had he seen in the flames? Had he somehow known that he had to burn bright, because he wouldn't burn for long?

Don strode through the archway into the dining room and out the back doors, not stopping until he got to the koi pond. He stared at the garage, only dimly aware that David had followed him.

"Don?" He spoke for the first time.

"I never understood how Charlie could hide himself in there for so long. I didn't know how overwhelming it was for him to lose Mom." He shook his head. "I can't go in there. I'd tear down every blackboard and smash them into a million pieces and I can't do that to Dad. Not – not yet, anyway."

He knelt by the koi pond and watched the fish swim aimlessly. "You know, Charlie was just a little guy when we got those fish. He was fascinated by them from the first time he saw them."

"Well," said David, "little kids like stuff like that. They see a bird flying, an ant dragging a crumb along the ground, and they're just completely absorbed by it."

Don laughed. "Absorbed doesn't begin to describe it. He was obsessed. I couldn't figure it out. 'Course, I was about nine and completely into baseball. Couldn't see why a kid would want to watch fish swim." He shook his head. "He wasn't just watching them, he was tracking all the different designs they made, tracking them to see if there were patterns. Triangles, rectangles, how many god-knows-what. He was four." His voice cracked. "He was only four."

"Don, let's go inside. You need to get something to eat."

"I lost him, David. I lost my little brother." His breath started to come in hitches.

David took him by the elbow and helped him stand, then guided him back to the house. "Megan," the younger agent said with relief when he saw her standing by the open door. They led Don to the table and she pushed gently on one of his shoulders to get him to sit down.

David headed for the kitchen, saying, "I'll get some water."

Megan fished in her purse for the bottle of medicine and pulled out two pills. She turned Don's hand over and put them in his palm, then took the glass from David and set it in front of him. "Take them, Don."

"What are they?" he asked, most of his mind still out at the pond.

"They'll help you relax a bit, maybe help you sleep."

He stared at the small objects in his palm and gradually brought them into focus. "Sleep. Yeah, that'd be a good idea. Merrick needs me sharp for tomorrow. Needs me for—" He broke off and rubbed at his forehead with his other hand. "Thanks, guys. I'm gonna go upstairs now." He tossed the pills in his mouth and drank the entire glass of water. He waved at the kitchen. "Please, help yourselves to whatever you want. But . . . stay down here?"

"Of course," Megan answered softly.

He nodded his thanks, his throat too closed for more words, then got up and headed for the stairs. Colby came in the front door, but Don couldn't look at him. He suspected that somehow Colby knew what he was feeling, _really_ knew, and Don found he couldn't bear his sympathy.

Colby's voice, though, was almost matter-of-fact. "I checked the perimeter, boss. All's clear."

He looked up at the younger agent then, and read the messages in his clear green eyes. _Yeah, I know – I get it. I'm not going to talk about it, though, because you don't need that right now. But I'll watch out for you tonight so you can get the rest you need, and tomorrow we'll nail the bastards._

He nodded once, then headed upstairs.

Colby entered the dining room quietly, and when they heard the last of Don's footsteps, sat down heavily in the chair Don had just left.

David sank down next to him. "Man, I've never been through something that bad."

"It was the shock," Megan said. "Finding out that way, seeing those photos – he'll find his balance, but I don't think he'll ever really get over it."

"Maybe after the coroner gets finished with Charlie's body, gets him cleaned up. They do a good job of making them look peaceful." David sounded doubtful, though.

"First we have to find him," Colby said ruefully.

"How can you lose a body?" David asked. "I mean, I know how it can happen, but I can't believe it happened to Charlie!"

Megan sank down into a chair on the other side of the table. "There's something strange about all of this. I haven't said anything to Don, not yet, but there are too many weird things going on."

David's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't get a chance to read the file, did you?"

"Heck, no, I was too busy trying to keep Don on his feet."

She drew aimless patterns on the table top with Don's glass. "Beyond the obvious questions of why someone would beat Charlie to death and then what happened to his body, why was Merrick the first agent on the scene?"

"What?" said Colby,

She nodded. "A campus policeman was first, then Charlie's friend Larry, and within ten minutes, the AD turns up. What was he doing in Pasadena?"

Colby looked at David. "Visiting the mayor?"

"Maybe," David answered. "But Megan's right – something feels wrong about all this."

She stood up and headed for the kitchen to get some food. "Guess we'll have a couple questions in the morning."

"Yeah," Colby said. "I guess we will."

* * *

In the physics department at CalSci, almost all of the lights were off for the night, even the late classes having let out an hour ago. One lone rectangle of light shone out onto the hallway floor as Amita Ramanujan finally headed home for the day. She somehow felt that if the day never ended, the day that had started with Charlie being alive, that he wouldn't really be gone.

Foolish. But then her heart had always fought to override her mind.

She stopped in the doorway and studied the man within. Charlie's best friend sat behind his desk with his elbows propped on stacks of ungraded papers, his face buried in his hands. She could see dark brown stains on the cuff of one jacket sleeve and felt her stomach roil. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She wasn't the only one hurting.

"Larry?" she said softly.

He slowly raised his head and she saw his cheeks were wet. He folded his hands together, laid them on the desk in front of him. "Amita? Are you okay?"

"About the same as you, I think. In shock. Not believing." She placed a fist against her breastbone. "My heart feels like it's about to burst inside." Her breath hitched. "No, I'm not okay. I don't think I'll ever really be okay again."

Larry didn't offer any platitudes. He simply heaved a long, sibilant, "Yes."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

As Megan, David and Colby had had questions the night before, so Don Eppes had questions in the morning, and he let fly almost as soon as he and Megan walked through Assistant Director Merrick's door the next morning. "Why is the FBI running this case?"

Merrick followed his own agenda, though. "Agent Eppes, Agent Reeves, have a seat. Agent Eppes, we located your father, and we're bringing him back."

Don leaned forward over the desk. "You didn't tell him?"

Merrick shook his head. "Only that there'd been an accident, and he was needed. No one will tell him anything more until he gets here. They're pleading ignorance, but expediting his trip." He glanced at his watch. "He should arrive in about thirty minutes."

"Plane?"

"No, unmarked car."

That set his radar off. "Why? A car takes a lot longer—"

"But is easier to slip into the city." Merrick moved back to his desk and lifted the folder he'd fiddled with the day before. "I didn't tell you everything yesterday, Don, and I'm not going to tell you everything now. You will eventually have the whole story, and you'll understand my reasons when you do, but for now I'll just say that there's been a threat against your life."

"Me? But Charlie's the one—"

Merrick sighed and tapped the file. "Your brother was just a warm-up. Your father is next, maybe other people you care about, and then, finally, you."

Don sank into one of the side chairs in front of Merrick's desk.

"A vendetta," Megan put in.

Merrick nodded.

"Charlie died – because of me?"

"No!" Merrick's answer was instant and emphatic. He started to say something, then like yesterday, apparently changed his mind. "You are not responsible for this; the perp is. And when we find him, we'll take care of him, I promise you that." He handed the folder to Don, who opened it and automatically began flipping through the pages. "Start thinking about who it could be. Run down the options – people you've put away who are just out, that sort of thing. We have to find him. Your father, maybe your team, who knows who else he'll go after, trying to hurt you."

"So you're bringing Mr. Eppes back to a safe house," said Megan.

"That's right."

Don looked up. "I need to see him."

"The perp is probably watching you, Don," she said. "He'll follow you to make sure he's gotten to you."

"He's gotten to me, all right," Don growled.

"Agent Reeves is right," said Merrick. "But as long as you do what you might be expected to do, he'll relax."

"What I'm expected to do?"

Megan answered. "Grieve. Go home. Go get drunk. Anything but stay at work. That will make him suspicious and might precipitate another action. It would be normal for you to come to work today and get chased out, and then head for a bar or something."

Don's mind had taken another track, though. "Larry – Amita – and what about Kim?" Though he didn't worry as much about Kim, since she was Secret Service and former FBI. All she'd need would be a heads-up.

"We have agents covering Charlie's two friends," said Merrick, "and the Secret Service has been informed. Miss Hall is currently in Washington, and her people will make sure she stays there."

"So how do I get to Dad?"

Merrick almost laughed, a soft snort. "Go get drunk."

"Georgie's Pub," said Megan as she checked her watch. "It'll be open in about fifteen minutes. It's really dark with all those plants all over the booths, and it has about four exits. David can get one of our small trucks from the motor pool. It'll look like it's delivering food, and you can just slip in the back. No one will notice it pulling out, and you can move to the front once you're a mile or two away."

"Hide in plain site," Don said with approval.

"Good idea, Reeves," said Merrick, "but none of you will be driving. Agent Granger will go back to the Eppes' house and take charge of surveillance there, so you and Sinclair will stay at the pub. The longer you're there, the more likely the perp will believe Don is there, too. And maybe we can even spot him."

"All right," said Don. "I can go with that."

They all headed for the door, but Merrick held Don back a moment. The door closed softly behind Megan, and they were alone.

Merrick chose his words carefully. "When you get to the safe house, please remember that everything I've done has been to protect the innocent."

Don narrowed his eyes in question, but Merrick didn't elaborate. He simply added, "Just go. And . . . I'm sorry."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you for your patience . . . it will now (I hope) be rewarded. Posting of new sections will slow down a bit now, too. I just really didn't want to leave this part of the story hanging._

_**

* * *

**_

Vendetta  
By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

The ruse worked perfectly. Don slipped out of the tavern and into the back of the truck with no one the wiser. The driver made frequent turns, took short jaunts on the highway (judging by the speed), made stops where he didn't open the back, and finally, when Don felt his temper was about to explode, they stopped again, backed up, stopped, and then he heard the latch on the back door being lifted. 

"Go straight inside," the driver said, waving at a set of double doors behind a loading dock. "Someone will meet you."

Don hopped from the bed of the truck to the covered loading dock and pushed his way through the delivery doors. He looked around, not knowing what to expect, and found himself in the receiving area of an industrial kitchen. A restaurant? In a safe house?

"Agent Eppes?" A man in a white chef's uniform approached him, but there was something about the way he carried himself that said he was Bureau.

"Yes." He looked around. "A safe house?"

The 'chef' let a bit of a smile appear at one corner of his mouth. "A nursing home. There are reasons, which you'll find out shortly. This way. You'll have twenty minutes before the truck leaves. That's as long as we can make believable for a delivery."

As Don followed the agent through the maze of the kitchen and through the dining room, he wondered what he was going to say to his father. Did he know? Had anyone told him? Explained how his youngest son had been beaten to death in his own classroom? Had they shown him the pictures, told the story—

He rubbed at his face. Those pictures had haunted him all night, in spite of the pills Megan had given him. He hoped that when he finally found Charlie's body, finally saw him, that he would be able to lay that other Charlie to rest and remember his brother as he'd been in life; teasing their father, scribbling on his blackboards, shooting hoops, teaching his students.

No, it all came back to death. To a grave that would rest next to his mother's. As, someday, his grave would rest next to his father's.

"Donnie?"

He blinked back tears to see his father approaching warily.

"Donnie, are you all right?"

His father was standing right in front of him, his eyes full of love and caring, and all he could do was shake his head. Of course he wasn't all right. He closed his eyes and suddenly he was in his father's arms, sheltered as he hadn't been since a child, except for that one night when they lost his mother. Why did it take death to bring him this close to his father?

"Dad," he breathed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't there, I didn't stop it, I should have known, I should have been able to protect him—"

"Shh," his father murmured. "It's not your fault, don't take that on yourself."

"But Charlie— Oh, God, it was so bad."

"I know." He guided Don into a small sitting room and they sat down on a couch. "But it'll all be over soon. Once we've taken care of your brother, we'll move on, just like we have before."

Don pulled back and stared at his father, appalled. "How can you say that? How can you be so calm? My God, Dad, Charlie's dead! I saw the police photos, they beat him and left him to die in his own classroom!" He clamped his jaw together. He'd never intended to tell his father the details, sure that it would rip him apart. But Alan Eppes was confused, not upset.

"Donnie, what are you talking about?"

Don felt a hysterical bubble rise up in him and he abruptly stood, unable to sit any longer. "What am I talking about? I'm talking about my brother, your son, beaten to death because of a vendetta someone has against me, and the Bureau – I can't believe it – the Bureau lost his body, so we can't even bury him!"

Alan shook his head as if that would clear up the confusion. "Son, you've got it all wrong." He rose and put out a hand to stop Don's pacing. "Come with me."

He held back. "Dad, I'm sure the Bureau told you something clean and sweet, but that's not how it was."

"Don. Come with me." Alan had an iron grip on his forearm, and whether it was the strength in his hand or old habit, when he headed for the door, Don followed.

They walked halfway down the hall and stopped in front of a resident's room. Alan turned his son to face him and spoke clearly and firmly. "I don't know what report they gave you, and I don't know what pictures you saw, but Charlie is not dead."

Don groaned and turned away. "Dad, I don't want to believe it either, but there were police photos from the crime scene."

Alan nudged the door open a little and pushed Don toward the room. "Go."

"What—?" Something was starting to tickle the back of his mind, but he couldn't fix on it. He wanted to argue, to convince his father that they had to face the truth, but something in his father's expression held him back. To please him, Don pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped through.

The lights were low and curtains were drawn across the window on the far wall, masking the details of the room in shadows. There were two beds up against the right-hand wall, the farthest one empty, the closer one surrounded by a curtain. The silence was broken only by a steady beeping and a soft mechanical wheeze that came from somewhere. Afraid of what he would find, but more afraid not to look, he pulled the curtain back.

He felt the shock as if someone had hit him. It was Charlie. Pale, silent, frozen in time. They'd found his body, though why they'd brought him here was still a mystery. Then the significance of the mechanical beeping hit him. He looked above the bed and saw a small monitor with a thin green line that steadily spiked every second or so. He saw the blood pressure cuff inflate around Charlie's upper arm, saw the numbers rise, and heard it deflate. He followed the line from the IV bag to where a needle fed fluids into his brother's arm.

Was it possible?

He walked closer to the bed, up next to it, until he was close enough to not only see his brother's chest rise and fall, but to hear him breathing. In and out. In and out. Don's heart felt like it was about to explode.

Someone had cleaned up all the blood, and a bruise and a line of stitches were all that were left on his brother's forehead. He reached out and brushed the back of his hand against the beard-stubbled cheek. It was warm.

And then Charlie blinked and sleepily opened his eyes. "Don?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "That you?"

"Yeah," he choked out. "Just checking on you."

The corners of Charlie's mouth curved upward just a little, and his eyelids drooped. "Thanks." And his breathing evened out again.

Don stumbled away from the bed to find his father standing behind him.

Alan smiled. "See? Everything is going to be all right."

And Don Eppes felt like he'd been beaten near to death himself, and survived.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

"What happened?" Don asked the agent in the truck, a man named Woods, as he fastened the passenger seat belt around his hips. He was in the front seat this time.

"Someone tried to kill your brother. Everyone believed what the first kid said, until the AD checked out the scene for himself and discovered he was still alive. The campus cop might lose his job over it, even if it was the first violent crime he's ever seen. Anyway, Merrick had the paramedics rig your brother up with an oxygen mask and a tank, then they covered him up like he was dead to take him out of the building. When they got to the hospital, they took him to the morgue, but they had an ER doctor come down. He examined Charlie and determined what treatment he needed, and after talking with Merrick, suggested this place. They have doctors on staff who are used to monitoring neurological problems, which is basically what's wrong with him."

"But why—" Don was fighting to get everything to come back into focus.

"Someone's trying to hurt you through your family. If they think Charlie's dead, they won't try again to kill him. CalAmeriTours told the rest of your dad's tour group that he decided to stay in Mexico for a couple of days, so he isn't in danger, either, as long as no one sees him." He grinned, wolflike. "That leaves you as the primary target, Agent Eppes, and that's something we can all deal with."

"Protect the innocent . . ." Don said softly, remembering Merrick's words. And the AD also hadn't allowed him to call his father – saving Alan the hours of agony he would've gone through if Don had told him what he'd believed to be true. It was a side to Merrick that Don had never seen before, and realized that he might not see again. It was good to know it was there, though. "How many people know the truth?"

"The AD and his secretary, the ER doctor, though he doesn't have all the details, Bud-the-chef and me. We got this duty because we were Merrick's backup at the scene. And now you know, and then whatever you choose to tell your team."

"Whatever I choose?"

Woods nodded. "Merrick left it up to you. Who, when, and how much. You shouldn't be on the case at all, but he's being careful who he trusts with this. Because of the attack on your brother, he knows he can trust you, and he knows you'll be careful who you pick to work with."

"So do I know everything yet?"

Woods shook his head. "I don't think anyone but Merrick really knows what's going on. That tells me it's pretty big – might have some political angle."

"Well, I hope he decides to tell me some time soon – how can you work a case when you don't have all the facts?"

Wood grimaced in commiseration. "After I drop you off, I'll be back on duty watching over your dad and brother, so it'll be just you and your team to really dig into it. There's others working on pieces of it – everyone likes Charlie, and they're mad as hell at what happened to him – but they don't know the whole story either. Merrick says it's up to you to put it together and run with it. He also said you'd know when and if to hand it off."

That was a warning. In other words, if he pulled it off, he'd be a hero; if he didn't, both he and Merrick could come up before the disciplinary board.

Don suddenly realized he was exhausted, and that wasn't going to help put a good plan together. "I think the first thing we do, if you and Bud can hang in a while longer, is for me to go home and spend some time thinking. I've supposedly been at a bar for the last hour, so if I walk out like I'm plastered and hit the sack for a while, it'll keep the story alive."

"Uh-huh. I'd guess that if Charlie really had died, your next mood when you woke up would be royally pissed."

"On top of being hungover? Oh, yeah. So after I get some decent sleep, I'll storm back to the office and get down to business." He gazed out at the streets for a moment, musing on how this trip back was so different from the trip out. "You going to report to Merrick?"

"Soon as I drop you off."

"Tell him thanks for me, will you? If I'm going to make this real at the office, I'm probably going to end up yelling at him – but it'll be an act. Let him know, okay?"

Woods nodded. "I will. Now get your head down; we're almost there."

* * *

David drained his – or supposedly Don's – fourth beer; significant portions of numbers one, two and three had gone into the philodendron at his left elbow. "How long is this going to take?" he asked.

"I don't know any more than I did the last time you asked," answered Megan, twirling the ice in her third glass of tea with her swizzle stick. "I wish he'd hurry up, though. I'm about to float out of here." Only part of her second glass had landed on the anthurium behind her head. It was an experiment she didn't care to repeat, since she'd managed to shower herself at the same time.

David grimaced in agreement. "Let me see what I can find out." He rose, and in a much louder voice told her, "I don't care what he said, I'm going to go check on him."

"You just want the head," she whispered with a grin.

He leaned over the table and looked her straight in the eye. "You got it."

She chuckled, but after he left, her face dropped back into grim lines. If Charlie had died because of a vendetta against Don, she knew it would scar him forever. Regardless of what Merrick said, Don would feel responsible. In fact, according to the internal code most of them operated on, he would be.

She frowned. The AD knew that – he was hardwired the same way. She ran the scene in the office through her mind again. When Don had made that connection, Merrick had said "no," and he'd meant it. She concentrated on her memory of the moment. Merrick had been very sure of himself on the first word, but then his tone had changed to slightly less certainty, even though what he was saying was all related.

That was odd. One of a number of very odd things about this case, not the least of which – she glared in the direction of the restrooms – was where her partner had gone when he slipped out the back door. And now it seemed she'd lost David, too.

On impulse, she slid out of the booth and went up to the bar to settle their tab. Once she had her change, she headed for the ladies' room and, when she didn't see either man in the dark hallway, ducked inside. She was wasting time fiddling with her hair when she heard David's voice in the hall. She slipped out just in time to grab Don as he staggered.

She studied her partner. He certainly looked like he'd had four beers – in fact, he looked absolutely poleaxed. She couldn't decide if whatever happened had been a good thing or if it had made it worse. Well, all they could do was get him back home again. "I paid up," she told David, "so we can leave."

"Good," he answered. "I don't think he needs anything else."

They accompanied him out the door, one on each side. As they approached the car, Don stumbled again and this time nearly knocked Megan over. She grabbed him and together they got their balance back, but not before he whispered, "Sit in the back with me."

She shot him a concerned look, but said, "David, you drive. I think I'd better be ready to open a door for him if we have to pull over suddenly."

"Got it," he said, but she caught the look in his eye that what he'd really gotten was that there'd been a significant change in the case. Whatever it was, he was prepared to wait for it.

They loaded Don into the back seat of the car. Megan helped him with his seatbelt, then settled next to him.

Don leaned forward and said very softly, "Call Larry Fleinhardt and have him bring Amita to the house, but get Colby to sweep the place first. Use David's phone – I don't think anyone outside would have tapped him yet. And get someone to bring me one of those new secure laptops, too."

He leaned back and closed his eyes, as if pretending to fall into a drunken sleep, but Megan noticed his breathing evened out almost immediately, and years of worry seemed to drop from his face. Whatever had happened, she decided it must have been good.

"David, I need your phone."

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

It took them close to an hour to get through traffic to the Eppes' house, and Don slept the whole way. An electrician's van pulled in behind them, and a cheerful man with a toolbox in hand greeted them with a wave.

"Hey, how lucky can I get? Talk about timing!" he called loudly enough for the neighborhood to hear. "My buddy's right behind me, and we can get going on your project."

Don dragged himself out of the back seat of the car. "Yeah, it's just my lucky day," he said with a scowl and led the way to the door. As soon as they were all inside, he shot them all a warning glance and said, loudly and clearly enough to be easily picked up by anyone listening, "I'm going upstairs for a shower. Someone put on a pot of coffee before these guys start messing around with the electricity, okay?" He rubbed at his face. "I think I'm going to need it. And there should be some cold cuts in the fridge if anyone needs lunch."

Twenty minutes later he was back downstairs, looking and feeling more like himself. He'd just accepted a steaming mug of coffee from David when the doorbell rang. "Megan?" he asked.

She got up and went to the door, and Colby passed Larry and Amita in. As she brought them back, Don heard Larry say, "Anything, of course, for Charlie's family. I cancelled my appointments and classes for the rest of the day, and no one's figured out yet what to do about Charlie's classes."

As if continuing an ongoing discussion, Amita said, "I just don't know if I can take them over. Maybe I could next term, but to work with his students, using his lesson plans—"

For the first time since he'd known him, his brother's friend looked every day of his age, and Amita's eyes were swollen and red. Don knew he couldn't let this go on another moment. He turned to the electrician who'd been poking around behind the television. "What do you think?"

"Okay, you're clear. Rob's already up on the roof of the garage with a satellite dish that we're going to install, and that will explain any static if someone's listening in."

"Thanks, Stan. Once we know what we're going to do next, I'll brief you. Would you send Colby in for a minute?"

"Sure," said Stan. He picked up his toolbox and went outside, and Don topped off his mug while they waited for Colby.

When he arrived, Don waved at them all to sit down at the dining room table. He stood at the head, hands caressing the back of the chair where his father always sat. He stretched and let a small grin play around his mouth, knowing it would confuse them, but not caring. "What I'm going to say here can't leave this room." He waited just a moment, searching their eyes to make sure they all understood, then dropped his bomb. "Charlie's life could depend on it."

Megan was the first to get it and broke out into a blazing smile, though David and Colby weren't far behind. But then they had the advantage of seeing first-hand how screwy the case had gotten.

Amita's breath caught, and she searched his face. "Charlie's life? Do you mean . . . he's alive?"

Don nodded, and he knew he had a full-fledged grin on his face. "He's pretty banged up, but, yeah, it looks like he'll be okay."

"That's where you went this morning," said David with satisfaction.

But Larry just shook his head. "It can't be. I saw him." He rubbed at his face. "I saw him. He was gone. I stood in his classroom, right next to his desk, and I swear . . . I checked his pulse, I didn't find one . . ." he looked up at Don, his eyes pleading for absolution. "I swear, Don—"

Don suddenly understood. "Larry," he said, his voice gentle, "I saw the pictures. I know what you had to have believed. I know that if there'd been any clue, you would have moved heaven and earth to get him help. But it's okay. He's going to be all right, but he's safer if everyone, including the perp, thinks he's dead."

"Where—" Larry swallowed. "Where is he?"

Don shook his head. "I can't tell you. In fact, I'm not so sure myself. But Dad's with him, and he has the doctors he needs. When this is over, I'll bring him home myself."

"You're not going back?" Megan asked. He couldn't tell if she was surprised or not.

"No. It's too dangerous for him, and for Dad. I'm not even going to call." He took a deep breath. "Someone's after me, and they'll go through anyone to hurt me. You have to know that, because all five of you are at risk. Megan, David and Colby know the rules and accepted them a long time ago." He turned to Larry and Amita. "I'm sorry I put you at more risk by bringing you here. Until this morning, the perp may not have realized how close you are to us. But I had to let you know."

"That's all right," said Amita. "I'm glad you did. If we have to hide for a while or something, I don't care. Not if it means that Charlie—" she still choked a little on his name "—if it means Charlie's alive."

"Larry?" Don asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm glad you told us. The weight, it's been crushing, just crushing. I just wish there was something more we could do to expedite the capture of this . . . person." Larry's hesitation and distasteful emphasis on his final word provided an eloquent demonstration of his opinion of whoever was behind the attack on his friend.

Megan had been thinking furiously. "We need a way to draw him out. I don't think he'll go for Don yet. He attacked Charlie, left a note for Don telling him why, and I don't think he's going to be satisfied with simply killing Don next."

"A note?" Don frowned. "What note?"

"The AD had it," said David. "I got a quick look at it, but you should see it."

Someone rang the doorbell. "I'll get it," Larry said. He pushed himself up from the table and walked a bit blearily to the door. Don wondered if he'd volunteered in order to have a chance to escape for a moment. It was a lot to take in for a civilian who'd been at the crime scene – who'd believed he'd confirmed the death of his friend. And though Don had a feeling that Larry was more worldly than he seemed, he was still an academic with little experience of the outside world. Especially the violent one that Don inhabited.

"Must be the laptop," said Megan. She turned to Amita. "We can get into most of the FBI databases from here, get started on who might be responsible for all of this."

Larry brought back a small black case, a confused look on his face. "Someone who wouldn't say who they were delivered this."

Don caught David's expression right before the younger agent launched himself from his chair.

"That's not a laptop!" he yelled as he grabbed it from Larry, nearly bowling him over. It was only as he ran out the door that Don realized what David thought. He had just started to follow when Megan grabbed him and spun him, off balance, into Colby's hands.

"Stay here," Megan yelled at them, and took off. She'd just gotten outside when a dull whoomp echoed through the house and all the picture frames on the credenza fell over.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N, 6 May 06: Thank you for your patience. My internet crashed, then my computer crashed, and it's been one of the worst weeks at work I've had in the last eight years. Anyway, I got my computer back together, and I uploaded this at the library. I hope to get my internet back in the next few days so that hopefully you won't have to wait as long for the next part. As to similarities between this story and last night's ep, Backscatter, well, call it coincidence, though it was sure interesting to see Nick & Cheryl's take on a vendetta-style story. I wonder why we both chose David to get hurt?_

* * *

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

He needed to sleep. Don knew his reactions were off – that David had figured out the bomb before he did, and that Megan had been able to push him aside, were both indicators that he was nowhere near his usual level of competence.

Thank God they would be okay. David would be out longer than Megan – she'd wrenched her left shoulder when she was knocked into the side of the house by the blast, but David had a mild concussion and a broken leg. Neither were bad, the doctors said, but they were keeping him at the hospital overnight. Megan was back at the house, her arm strapped to her body, little pain lines between her eyebrows. Don's next shift of watchdogs had brought boxes of case files with them that were piled next to the dining room table, and once Colby'd assured himself that they were good enough to protect his boss, he'd gone back to the office to file reports.

The yard was a mess, but they could get a landscaper to put it back together. That was the least of his worries. What he had to think about now was how to keep Larry and Amita safe. They'd pulled together like troupers, making and ferrying coffee and sandwiches to the fire department, the police and the FBI's Evidence Response team and were now sitting pale and wide-eyed in the family room, but they had no training – nothing that would help keep them alive. He had to protect them. He hadn't been able to help Charlie, but he'd help his brother's friends.

And then he'd go after the bastard.

"All of you need to go to the safe house," he said abruptly.

As expected, he got a chorus of arguments centering around their need to protect him. Larry and Amita were easy to deal with – they were both frightened and wanted desperately to see Charlie, so he simply overrode them and told them they were going. Megan was a different story.

He took her aside. "Look, I want you to talk to Charlie. See if he remembers anything. You know what kind of information we need from him. You can draw it out of him better than anyone but me, and I'm not going anywhere near him until this is settled. When you get done and Larry and Amita are settled in, see if you can get back here." He waved at her shoulder. "You won't be much good in a fight, but I have Stan and Rob for that, and Colby, too, when he gets back. And it's not what I need you for, anyway." He rubbed at his face.

She tilted her head quizzically.

"Your mind, Reeves. I need your knowledge, your training, your perspective; the way you can figure out what this guy is thinking. I need your insight."

She nodded reluctantly. "All right. I'll go see Charlie. And I'll get what I can from him, but it may not be much. Victims of this kind of trauma often lose their memory of what precipitated it."

"I know." It hurt to think of Charlie's mind not fully functional. "But we have to try."

She rose. "Don, you need to be careful."

"I'm always careful," he shot back.

She shook her head. "There's something not right about this. And I'm not just talking about whatever Merrick is keeping so close. I mean the perp's behavior. He shouldn't have gone after you yet. He had to have known you were here, so why did he try to kill you when his note indicated he wanted to make you suffer first?"

"Yeah, I see what you mean. But I can't just hide while he's out there waiting to go after somebody else I care about."

"Just . . ."

"I know." He grinned, but then he sobered as quickly. "You be careful, too. Don't go near the safe house if you think there's any chance someone might be following you. We keep saying 'the' perp, but there might be more than one. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"And, Megan?"

She stopped on her way out the door.

"Uh . . . try not to tell Dad about the front yard. If he finds out, the perp won't have to kill me – Dad'll beat him to it."

She laughed as she herded Larry and Amita out the door, but she'd gotten the message. The instinct to protect civilians was strong in both of them, particularly civilians they cared about, even from something as simple as a blown-up front yard.

* * *

For the first time since he'd seen the pictures of Charlie, he was alone. The two agents were outside along with a couple of LAPD officers, but Don was the only one in the house. Oh, he'd had time by himself last night, but Megan had been downstairs, David and Colby switching off prowling outside, and the simple fact of their caring presence had nearly suffocated him. He needed to be by himself to come to terms with everything that had happened. To 'process' it, as they said in the business. To find his balance again.

The note from the perp had been the first thing he saw when he opened the boxes to start looking for clues. He'd slowly replaced the box lid, eyes stuck on the typed words. They haunted him now as he wandered from room to room. _Eppes – first yours, then you._ Faxed to the FBI from a computer at an internet café. Paid in cash during the lunch rush. A dead end.

He touched a picture frame here, a book there – the clutter of his family's life that he'd thought was torn irrevocably apart and was now healed. No, not healed. Not yet. And even when he'd found the people responsible, even when they were put in jail for the rest of their lives, when Charlie was home and back to his obsessive math-making, Don knew he'd carry the scars of these terrible twenty-four hours for a long time.

The doorbell rang, and he heard someone call his name.

He checked the peep-hole, recognized Jeff McClintock from his office and opened the door slowly, standing to one side to make it difficult for anyone outside to see him. He didn't believe the perp would hang around, but it was better to be cautious.

"The laptop," said Jeff. "And I know the guy who brought it."

"Thanks. You guys need anything? Coffee? Aspirin?"

The agent shook his head. "Just figure it out, Don. Whoever this is, figure it out so we can get them."

Don took the computer from him. "You can bet on it," he said.

It was odd to hear an FBI man endorse having a family member work a case, but it warmed him. They would keep him away from the action, but everyone knew that the answer was probably in his head, if they could just feed him enough information so he could sift out the right answer.

"Go back to the data." Hadn't Charlie said that? Some advice Larry had given him once?

He set the laptop on the dining room table, went to the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee, and settled in for the long haul.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

Charlie hated being tired.

Fatigue was the enemy of meticulous thinking, and that was the world he was used to living in, the world he loved. This last time he'd woken, random equations had started rocketing through his mind, but he couldn't nail any of them down long enough to evaluate their reliability. He wasn't even sure which problems they were for. He sighed.

"Charlie?"

He opened his eyes to see his father bending over him, a worried frown on his face.

"'s all right, Dad," he mumbled. "Just keep seeing the proofs Larry asked me for. Something wrong with them." He tried to grab on to one as it flew by. "Maybe wrong. Can't tell, 'cause they won't stay put long enough to get a good look at 'em."

His father eased down into a chair on his right. "Maybe if you got some more sleep, the answers would clear up for you."

"Can't sleep. Too much going through my head." He rubbed at his temple – the one on the opposite side from where he'd been hit – and frowned. "I can't catch them."

"Catch what?"

"The concepts. They're too complex." A weight seemed to settle somewhere in his gut. "I can't get them, Dad. They're too hard."

"Charlie," his father said soothingly. "It's not that they're too hard for you, you're just too tired right now. You were badly hurt, and it's going to take some time for you to get well again."

"But Dad," his voice hitched, "what if it's gone?"

"Son, trust me, it's not gone, but getting upset is not going to help. In fact, it'll probably make it worse." He took Charlie's hand and squeezed it gently. "You need to let it all go and think about something else for a while."

"I'd like to, but what else am I going to think about? Getting beaten up and left for dead?" The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted saying them. He wasn't so muddled he couldn't see the pain flash across his father's face. "I'm sorry," he said wearily.

Someone knocked at the door, and he tensed. "Dad?"

Alan patted his shoulder and rose. "If they bothered to knock, I'm sure it's okay."

Charlie relaxed back into his pillow and closed his eyes. He could hear soft murmurs from the door and then several sets of feet approaching his bed. He didn't want to talk to any more doctors or nurses, so he just kept his eyes closed.

"He was awake a minute ago," said his father softly.

A soft hand lit delicately on his cheek, and a familiar voice said, "It's enough just to see him breathing."

Tired as he was, he had to know. " 'Mita?" he murmured and turned his head into her palm.

"Charlie?" Her voice wobbled.

He forced his eyes open and saw not just her, but Larry as well. His father hovered in the background.

He blinked and smiled, pleasure at their visit overriding the fatigue. Then he got a good look at them. "You look terrible."

Amita laughed, a brief sound that ended in a choke. "I'm sure we look better than you."

"Yes," added Larry, "but considering that the last time I saw you, you were dead, I must say there's been a vast improvement."

Alan rolled his eyes.

Charlie just grinned. Larry was the breath of fresh air he'd needed, someone who operated in the world the same way he did and had no hesitation in calling things as he saw them. And Amita . . . having her near soothed him in a way he didn't try to understand. Someone was missing though. He looked around the room, but the person he wanted to see wasn't there. "Don?" he asked.

"He's not coming," a new voice said from the doorway.

He turned his head to discover Megan coming over to his side. "Why not?" he asked.

She cocked an eyebrow. "How much do you know about what happened?"

"Not a whole lot. They told me that somebody attacked me." A quickly indrawn breath on his other side had him looking at Amita and Larry. He caught something – a look of fear? – between them.

Panic began to shorten his breath. He looked for his father. "Don . . . Dad, is Don . . . is he okay?"

"He's fine," Alan soothed, though he shot a frustrated look at the FBI agent. "He came to see you, remember?"

Charlie sorted through images from recent memory. Don had been here, had said . . . _Just checking on you._ "That was real?" he asked.

"I just came from him," said Megan. "He's worried about you, but otherwise, he's fine."

"Why didn't he come back?" Charlie hated that his voice was so thin and weak; he sounded like a little kid deprived of a toy.

Megan didn't answer directly. "Can I talk to Charlie alone for a minute?" she asked the others.

A thoughtful look on his face, Alan nodded slowly. "He should rest, though."

"I'll remember," she answered.

"Charles," said Larry, "we'll be right back. We'll just be outside."

"Thanks," he said. "There are some equations I need to go over with you."

Larry shook his head. "Equations. I should have known. Other people ask for crossword puzzles or novels when they're in the hospital." His voice faded as he left the room. "Though where I'm going to find a whiteboard . . ."

He looked at Megan to discover she was grinning.

"I'd say you're feeling better," she said. "Don said you only woke up for a minute when he was here. He'll be glad to know you remember his visit."

"I don't remember much," he confessed. "I'm getting this feeling, though, that all of this wasn't someone mad about a grade."

She sobered. "No. It wasn't." She seemed to study him for a moment, then came to some conclusion. "Charlie, you were specifically targeted; deliberately attacked. Someone set out to kill you."

_A swinging pole suddenly obscured his vision, and he flinched. People were yelling at him, demanding something he didn't have. Chalk pounded on a blackboard, then a hand furiously erased the equations. Noise, so much noise, then an explosion of pain in his head, and everything faded away._

"Charlie? Charlie!"

It was Megan calling him. He concentrated hard and finally managed to push the images away. He opened his eyes, saw her standing over him, saw the deep concern on her face.

"I'm—" He swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "I'm all right."

She poured a cup of water and helped him hold it. He drank gratefully.

"Thanks," he whispered. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to make sense of what he'd just seen in his mind. "A long, thin round object – wood? – swinging at my head. Two people. A man and a woman. Arguing. The man started erasing my equations."

"Where are you?" she asked.

"In my classroom. Getting ready for my students." He tried to remember, but the effort was exhausting.

"_What's the answer? Dammit, tell me what the answer is or I'll bash your head in!"_

He said softly, "There was no answer."

Megan gave him an odd look, but asked, "Do they introduce themselves, or just walk in?"

_Two people bursting through the door, demanding his attention, drawing him away from the equations he was preparing for his lecture._

"They . . . don't knock. The door is closed, but they just come in. They're yelling at me, insisting that I write the answer on the board, but I can't make them understand."

"What are they yelling? What are they asking you?" Her voice was soft and gentle, almost like they were discussing the fish in his back yard. No pressure, but her questions took him back.

"They want something I worked on for . . ." he paused. His head had started to pound, and his stomach was churning. "Does it matter? It was a classified project."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "If they're the ones who attacked you, it probably has bearing. I know you're tired, Charlie. Can you at least give me a person to talk with?"

He rubbed at his middle, trying to ease the nausea. "Merrick," he finally said. He could feel darkness pulling at him, taking him away from the sick swirling in his head. "Ask Merrick," he managed to mumble again before he gave in and sank back into comforting nothingness.

* * *

Megan checked the numbers on the various pieces of medical equipment and, satisfied that they were within safe norms for someone in his condition, eased back in her chair to study the man who lay in front of her. He was pale and a few of the wilder curls of hair were stuck to his forehead with sweat, but based on the medical knowledge she'd gained while getting her psychology training, she came to the conclusion that he'd simply worn himself out.

"Merrick," she whispered. What did the attack on Charlie have to do with the Assistant Director of the LA office? Was that why he'd been on the scene, and so quickly? Had Charlie been working on something for him?

Suddenly pieces began to fall into place. She didn't know what shape they were yet, but she could see that there was a pattern. She rubbed her sore shoulder. Yes, there was definitely a pattern.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N, 11 May 06: I'm still having internet problems, so thanks for hanging in there. An interesting comment came in . . . someone was upset because they'd been thinking this was a "Don story" and "it turns out it's a Charlie story." Aside of the fact that ten chapters focused on Don before we got one about Charlie, I didn't set out to write about one Eppes brother over another. As with everything I write, I set out to tell a particular story. In order to tell that story each character is used as needed to advance the plot, so – particularly with longer stories – beware of making assumptions and generalizations based on the first few chapters. Or the first eleven._

_**

* * *

**_

Vendetta  
By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

Megan stepped through the doorway into the Eppes' living room and cut Don off before he could say a word. "He's doing fine, he remembered your visit, and your father's fine, too." Having gotten that much out of the way, she added in a voice that came out more piteously than she intended, "Coffee?" 

"Yeah. Fresh pot." He ran a hand over his face. "Thanks."

He followed her as she wound her way through the house to the kitchen, past the dining room table that was strewn with case files and random pieces of paper. The real laptop was sitting in the middle, the lid lifting like a sentinel above the stacks of folders. She shuddered, and her shoulder began to ache again.

Don filled a glass of water from the tap and handed it to her. "Did the doc give you any pills?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "but they'll probably put me to sleep, and I'm not ready for that yet. We have some things to talk about first."

"Aspirin?" He held out a bottle. "And there'll be leftover lasagna in about—" a quick look at his watch "—ten minutes. I just put it in the microwave."

"Yes to both," she answered gratefully.

She swallowed the pills as he poured two hefty mugs of coffee, and then they headed back to the dining room. He settled himself at the laptop and gave her just long enough to take one heavenly sip of the dark brew before asking, "So? What did Charlie say?"

"As I suspected, his memory is fragmented. He actually remembers more than I thought he would, but it's still not a complete picture." She sipped again. "You were right about not limiting ourselves to one person. He said there were two, a man and a woman, and they came into his classroom uninvited while he was preparing for his next class. He'd been writing some equations on the board for his students. They either didn't say who they were, or he doesn't remember. He said they asked for something he'd been working on, but it was something he didn't have. I'm not clear on whether he told them that, but it seems likely because they became violent at some point. He did give me a few things I can have forensics check on. The door was closed when they arrived, so we might be able to pick up prints from the doorknob—"

She waved a hand at his pained expression. "I know, it's a long shot, but if we're lucky we might at least get corroborating evidence. And Charlie said the man was erasing his blackboards, so there might be a chance of prints there, as well as finding chalk dust on the perp's clothing later. I think he might have been hit with a cane, so again, if we can find it, it could help nail them."

"But for finding them, it's thin," Don murmured. "Really thin."

"I know. But it's pretty much all we have to work with right now. The little he does remember isn't in any time line that makes sense, and he fell asleep before I could get him to clarify. I'll follow up on the cane, since I can't exactly explain to anyone else where I got it from."

"A man and a woman, maybe one of them with a cane," Don mused, swirling his remaining coffee around in his mug. "That's not much to go on. Did he say what they looked like?"

"No," she shook her head, "That's about when he fell asleep."

"You didn't wake him up again?" Don said with a hint of exasperation.

"I didn't think that would be wise," she retorted, then sighed. She went on, more calmly. "He gave me everything he could, Don. He's going to be okay, but he's not well by a long shot. After he gets some rest, he may remember more."

Don shut the laptop, parked his elbows on the table, and rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry. You're right. I'm the last one who wants to see my brother treated like he's being interrogated. I just wish I knew who was behind this, what it's all about."

Megan tilted her head towards the laptop. "Anything useful?"

He opened it again. "Miles of files, just like always. Merrick had it loaded up with anything that could possibly be relevant, which means—"

She winced. "—it's loaded with lots of irrelevant stuff, too."

"Yeah."

"Merrick," she said thoughtfully. She rose from her chair and wandered around the room, finally ending up by the antique player piano.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"One thing Charlie said . . ." She ran her hand along the keyboard cover as she pulled up his exact words.

"About Merrick?" questioned Don.

"Uh-huh. When I asked him what it was he was working on . . . what the perps were asking about . . . he said to ask Merrick."

"Merrick?" Don repeated, astonished. "Charlie was working on something for the AD, and nobody told us?"

Megan sank down into an easy chair and leaned her head back. A sharp pain ran from her neck all the way down her back. Her shoulder throbbed in time to her heart, and all she wanted was a handful of painkillers, a Jacuzzi and a soft bed, in that order. Instead, she answered Don. "Might not have been working for him – might be a case of Merrick simply knowing who we should ask."

The timer for the lasagna went off, and as Don headed for the kitchen, he threw a look back at her. "First thing tomorrow morning, we go find out."

* * *

Once Megan left, Don realized how eerily quiet the house was with his father and brother gone. Not that he hadn't been here alone before, but somehow it felt particularly empty tonight. A house, not a home. Not with his father and brother gone. Gone because they couldn't come home. Because it wasn't safe for his father. Because moving Charlie anywhere right now could kill him. 

Restless, Don wandered into the dark kitchen. The windows let in enough moonlight that he had no trouble finding a glass and filling it from the tap. He leaned against the counter and stared out into the back yard.

It would soon be time to rake the leaves again.

His dad and brother usually did the chore together. They both raked, then Charlie held the bag open, talking about whatever was on his mind as their father gradually filled it while listening, oh, so casually and carefully. Don knew the routine – he'd been the bag holder until he left for college. Somehow it was easier to talk about important things while working in the yard.

_If Charlie had died . . . ._

He had a sudden, frightening vision of what might have been. If Charlie had died, Don was sure his father wouldn't have been far behind. The shock of losing his youngest to a violent crime not even a year after losing his wife might well have proven too much for him. Not that losing one son would have been worse than the other, but Don knew that his father was at least somewhat prepared for something to happen to him. The FBI wasn't exactly a safe career. _Not like math professor._

The house would have been his, to either sell or try to fill with a new family, one that would never have known his mother, his father or brother.

It could still happen.

He glanced around the kitchen, saw in his memory his mother cooking at the stove, his father chopping vegetables for a salad, his brother snatching an olive or a pickle from the tray. He wanted that life back. He knew it was gone; nothing would bring his mother back, but the family was still there. The love was still there.

_The future isn't cast in stone,_ he thought. _It can be different. I can make it be different._

He set the glass in the sink and headed upstairs to bed. The only way to get his family back home was to solve the mystery – and that was tomorrow's task.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

_**Vendetta  
**By BeckyS  
April 2005-2006_

_The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS"  
are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci.  
No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made._

* * *

Megan's legs were long enough that she could normally keep up with Don unless he was flat-out running, but whether it was her aching shoulder or her partner's mood, she didn't catch him the next morning until she got to the AD's secretary, who was physically guarding Merrick's door.

"Annie," he growled. "Let me see him."

Annie Monroe was a petite woman whom he could easily pick up and move, but she nonetheless glared at him, completely unimpressed. "Agent Eppes. Sit down." She turned her attention to Megan. "Agent Reeves," she said in a conversational tone. "How nice to see you again. The Assistant Director will be with both of you—" she glared at Don "—in a few minutes."

"Don," said Megan, pulling on his arm, "calm down. He's probably in the middle of something important."

"Important!" Don turned on her. "And finding my brother's murderer isn't important?"

If he hadn't phrased the question as if Charlie were dead, Megan would have been completely taken in. He was playing a part, but Megan knew the emotion was real. The fear and anger were finally coming out, even if he thought he was acting.

"Don! Shhh!" She dragged him over to the reception area and collapsed into a chair. "If you want to prowl around like a caged tiger, that's fine, but I'm going to sit down before I fall down."

He stopped abruptly and dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "It's not right to take it out on you of all people."

"Agent Eppes?" Merrick's voice came from his doorway.

Don extended his hand. "You up for this?" he asked, concern coloring his voice.

She smiled at him, all forgiven. "You bet."

They followed the AD back into his office, Don's body stiff with anger, but once the door was closed, he relaxed. "Sir," he said, emotion clogging his throat, "thank you."

Simply said, it was accepted with the equal simplicity of a nod. The two men needed no more. Merrick waved at the two armchairs chairs in front of his desk, and they all seated themselves.

"All right," said Merrick, "fire away."

Megan and Don looked at each other, and Don gave her a little nod. She raised an eyebrow, surprised, but asked the question that had been driving her the craziest. "Sir, why were you on the scene in the first place, and how did you get there so fast?"

Merrick leaned back in his chair with a faint air of approval. "Because Dr. Eppes called me."

Don shot her a look. "You didn't tell me about that."

"Charlie didn't tell me – could be he didn't remember. He only said that we should ask the Assistant Director about the project he was working on."

"Sir?" asked Don. "What's really going on here?"

Merrick leaned back in his chair. "Treason, kidnapping, theft, attempted murder, retribution . . . it's quite a package." He tapped a button on his phone. "Annie, would you please bring in the file, along with another carafe of coffee? Thanks."

She appeared in a moment with the same tray as before. This time she let Don pour his own coffee, saying, "Feeling a bit better today, Agent Eppes?"

"Much better, thanks." He set his mug on the little table between his and Megan's chairs, then took the folder she held out to him, too.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" she asked Merrick.

"No," he sighed. "Field all my calls, though. I don't want any interruptions."

She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Don opened the folder, then looked up at his boss, startled. "This is military – Air Force. Why isn't their OSI handling it?"

"This 'special investigation' has gone a bit beyond what their people are equipped to handle. An Air Force scientist, Doctor Jason Rosemont, flew out here last week from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base to have your brother validate some of his research."

"Rosemont?" asked Don. He frowned in concentration. "Charlie didn't mention a name, but I know he had a visitor coming in from out of town. He could hardly wait to meet the guy, and apparently this Rosemont felt the same way. He called the house from the airport to let Charlie know he'd arrived. Didn't even wait to get to his hotel."

Merrick said, "Rosemont went straight to CalSci, and apparently they worked well into the night, and then your brother took him back to his house."

So that was who'd slept in his old room. "What happened?"

"Rosemont disappeared. When they went back to CalSci the next day, he went out to get sandwiches for lunch, and never came back. Left your brother with all of his papers and a lot of questions."

"And that's when he came to you?"

"Yes. You and your team were up at Tehachapi on that field exercise, or I imagine he would have asked you to find out who in the Air Force he should report this to. When I contacted them, they refused to let me tell anyone else what was going on." A grimace appeared briefly. "Your brother was not happy about that."

A few odd things Charlie had recently said – or rather _not_ said – came to mind. They hadn't seemed important at the time, but now they made sense. He'd been avoiding Don, probably feeling guilty because he thought he was working behind his brother's back. Don knew how it was, though. Secrecy was secrecy. When you got caught up in it, you accepted the rules. He made a mental note to tell Charlie it was okay. "But they handed it back to us anyway?"

"While AFOSI has some training in handling kidnapping cases, they tend to be more oriented to the military or political abductions that take place in foreign countries. We have a unit dedicated to it – we handle more cases in a month than they see in a year, or two years. They want Rosemont back, so they did the smart thing and asked us in. In the meantime, Dr. Eppes continued to work on the material Dr. Rosemont left with him, to try to determine if there was something there that could be a motive."

"Did he come up with anything?" asked Megan.

"He called and asked me to come out to CalSci to look at his conclusions." He glared at Don. "As soon as he's eligible, you get your brother to replace his drivers' license."

In spite of seriousness of the situation, the corner of Don's mouth quirked up in a grin. So even Merrick had joined the orbit of people who revolved around his brother's sun – Charlie at the center, everything he needed coming to him. "What did he say?"

"I never found out," answered Merrick. "That was Tuesday, and when I got there, he'd been attacked."

_Only two days ago?_ "Any leads on the kidnapping?"

"Rosemont is at L.A. General. Whoever this is tried to drain him of everything he knew. We think they were only partially successful – he had a heart attack, and they dumped him on a hospital doorstep."

"Considerate of them," inserted Don, "seeing what they did to Charlie."

"It could be that they're on a deadline now," Merrick said. "Whatever it is that they need, it could be getting more urgent."

"Or it's when this got personal," suggested Megan. "Say they learned Charlie was involved from the scientist and recognized his name. They remembered some past contact with you, Don, that didn't turn out for them, and when Charlie didn't deliver either, they may have taken their past rage with you out on him."

"So it is my fault he got hurt."

Merrick shook his head. "Yours, your brother's, Rosemont's, mine – assigning blame isn't going to catch these people."

"Right." Don straightened in his chair at the reminder. "Did you find out what they wanted with the scientist? Did he survive?"

"He's alive, but he's in about the same condition as your brother." Merrick got up and paced to the window. "Not that any of us would understand what Rosemont was doing anyway, but he hasn't been able to talk to us enough for us to figure out just what the kidnappers wanted. And from what your brother said when he called, there was a flaw in Rosemont's reasoning. He wouldn't tell me over the phone what the end product was, only that what they were doing wasn't right, which could mean anything from a simple math mistake to ethical objections to the entire project." He rubbed at his forehead. "Not that I would expect him to give that kind of detail except in person."

Don glanced at Megan. "And it looks like he doesn't remember now."

"Or he wouldn't talk about it because of the classification of the project. If he knows that we're in the loop, though, he might tell us more."

"I'm hoping we don't have to bother him," Merrick said. "Did you come up with anything from the information on the laptop?"

Don shook his head. "A lot of information, but nothing fits. I don't want to bother Charlie, either; but if his memory is holding the key . . ."

Merrick stood up. "Go over the information again; measure it against what you know now. If you have to go talk with your brother, we'll arrange it."

"Rosemont might know something, though." Megan shifted in her chair, trying to get more comfortable. "Sir, it wouldn't be out of character for Don to insist on working this case in whatever capacity you'd let him. A visit to the hospital to check on David and talk to the professor who'd just been working with his dead brother would work. You'd allow him to do that much because you wouldn't expect it to pan out into anything, and it would let him bury himself in work while he waited for his father to get in touch."

Don shot her a glance at the burying himself comment, but had to agree with her assessment. "It might be more help than anyone would think if Rosemont and I could compare notes. I might pick something up from his descriptions that someone else interviewing him wouldn't."

"Colby could go talk with the local AFOSI office," Megan suggested. "See if they'll talk to him in person."

Merrick smiled ever so slightly. "It's handy having former active duty on the payroll."

"Yeah," Don said. "They might open up to him a bit more than one of us, or at least if they give off any unusual signals, he'll pick them up."

"Agent Reeves, you'll act as Agent Eppes' bodyguard. He's still a target."

"Yes, sir," she said, and they both rose.

"Be careful," Merrick said.

Don nodded, accepting the directive as both an order and a mark of concern. "We'll be in touch."

* * *


End file.
